


Breathless

by ClearlyClarity



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Character Study, Experimental Style, Introspection, Mental Institutions, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClearlyClarity/pseuds/ClearlyClarity
Summary: What will it take just to find that special relief?A Yuri character study/experimental fic.





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> a yuri character study—a look into her psyche and her relationship with pain. very experimental and rambly and everywhere, but i enjoyed writing most of it and i'll be incorporating a lot of techniques from it into my future fics.
> 
> trigger warning for fairly graphic descriptions of self-injury. stay safe!

 

**Breathless**

A brutal hand clamps over my mouth.  
Dirty. Disgusting. Suffocating.  
I reach futilely, attempting to shrug off my assailant.  
Another filthy hand coils its fingers around my throat. Snakelike.  
Surrounded by a crown of hands, the residents of Hell itself possessing me.  
Touching me. Eliciting moans.

My body burns, convulsing, thrashing, like a freshly caught fish in a net over the riverbed.  
I am choking, choking on the scent of my own desire.   
I want to breathe--

Inhale--

Take in--

That sweet breath of relief--

Just once, please--

_After this, I won’t do it ever again._  
Another broken vow falls softly from my bloodied lips.  
It shatters upon the floor, and for good measure  
I swipe my hand across one of the shards.

***

Yuri Yumeka had not always known that there was something strange about her. She had thought, rather childishly, that everyone felt the same way she did. Surely everybody around her experienced emotions at such an elevated degree, so powerful that they nearly knocked her off her feet?

It must be because today was the day--the day she was going to make a confession. A confession to the most popular boy in school, whose infamous breakup left him free and within inches of Yuri’s fingertips, if everything worked out right.

Even in her status as a semi-loner in her first-year did not prevent rumors from spreading. As Yuri walked through the hallways to her next class, she saw acquaintances and strangers alike whispering to each other and casting her glances. One girl called out, “Hey, Yumeka, are you confessing today?”

“Maybe,” Yuri replied. The thought that crossed her mind made her heart pound a little faster than usual.

The girl’s friend immediately sniggered. “Well, good luck.”

Yuri wasn’t sure why she snickered. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have an icicle’s chance in Hell--she knew that a friendship must form before a relationship and had taken it upon herself to accompany her crush and befriend him, and she was sure that he liked her. He remembered her asking her what kind of books she enjoyed reading, and Yuri had seized upon the question, going on length about the gruesome details of the latest horrorfiction she had read; she was sure she impressed him with his knowledge when she left his mouth gaping open.

Now that Yuri thought about it, though, that seemed to occur alarmingly often whenever she elaborated on her interests. Her passion for surrealism and horror was such that she would let it fill her up, brimming her heart fully, as she talked eagerly about her favorite scenes.

“In this book I’ve been reading,” Yuri had been telling a classmate as they sidled out of class one day, “there’s this really powerful scene… the main character was being prepared for cooking and--”

“Sorry?”

There was a disturbed edge to her tone that Yuri took as sudden interest.

“Yes!” she said earnestly. “She was being prepared for cooking, and the way the author talks about how the butcher cuts her up, limb from limb, then uses her own blood as the seasoning? It’s so fascinating, I just couldn’t stop reading!”

The other student blinked as if slapped. Then she said, “I have to go to the bathroom, sorry,” and rather suddenly packed her bag and ran off. Yuri thought that she must have been eager to read the same novel, though she considered it rather foolish of her to not have asked Yuri the name of it first.

It was curious indeed, but Yuri had never felt more right when she talked about the things she loved, the things that drew her in. When she talked about the delicious terror and amazement that she experiences when reading a brutalizing, frightening scene, it filled her heart with a frenzy that nearly carried her off her feet.

In the very same way now, as she walked herself to the place she knew she would find him (for she had dogged his footsteps thoroughly), she felt the same heat rise into her face, rushing upwards into her mind, turning it into soft, intoxicating mush. Pausing a little to draw a breath that seemed like it didn’t want to come, she swept her hair out of her face and glanced at her phone. Nearly time for the third-years to be done with classes for the day.

Yuri waited with bated breath--in no time at all, it seemed, the third-years were pouring out of the classrooms in a wave. There he was--! Recognizable solely by the crowd of girls that surrounded him, he took a seat in a nearby couch, chatting with his friends and admirers. It seemed to Yuri that there were more of them than usual, but that didn’t matter to her--her vision seemed to suddenly contract until she could see no one but him.

She came out of her hiding place and walked closer--he seemed even more ordinary-looking as she got closer, and all the more gorgeous for it. The girls next to him turned and stared at her, and there were things she couldn’t read in them--but not a single one showed any surprise; had they expected her?

And he finally saw her. Something twitched in his face, but it was gone too quickly for Yuri to be able to think about what it could have meant. “Uh--hey, Yumeka.”

What is this feeling? Yuri thought, her heart hammering in her chest. It’s… it’s too much…

“I…” Yuri whispered. Her breathing felt uneven.

The pleasurable feeling started to expand within her--and before she knew it she was grabbing his shoulders and gazing into his eyes.

“I love you,” she breathed. “I want you. I wanted you for a long time… I would think about the kind of things we would do together, I…”

It was unbearable now--Yuri felt as though she had just run a miles-long marathon in the hottest weather imaginable--her face was flushing, her head was reeling, and Yuri wanted to scream--

She dropped his shoulders like a hot potato and bashed her head into the table repeatedly. The table let out groans of protest, and several girls sitting around it screamed and moved back. Yuri was blind to all of them--she concentrated only on using force to exhort the devil inside her head that was making her do all those things, beating her head bloody against the glass tabletop--

Her head ringing in pain, Yuri looked up through a glaze of pained tears. Everyone was staring at her, a crazed animal left out of its cage--one that they didn’t wish to put back because of the show. Her crush looked to be struck dumb, but suddenly he didn’t seem so wonderful to Yuri anymore--he looked drab in his averageness, and even pathetic surrounded by his fangirls. Yuri stuttered something indiscernible and crawled backward on all fours. Their eyes, their stares behind which thoughts of disgust must linger, pressed upon Yuri, constricting her throat, denying her air, destroying her inside.

What had happened to me? That had surely just been a lapse of madness brought up by infatuation--right? And yet Yuri recounted the times when she spoke about her beloved books: their stares had been the same then… Was this simply the climax from the building up of all the feverish reverence she had produced? Her head was hurting too much to think. She pushed herself to her feet, unsteady, and ran through the crowd, which parted before her as though she were a plague.

***

“I don’t want to go to school today,” Yuri said. She had woken up with a headache, and had reached behind her head to find a bruise there.

“What?” her mother seemed too focused on the dishes to listen--or at least she seemed to be.

“I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I’m well enough to go.”

She placed the last of the plates on the counter with a loud clatter, then turned around and said, “You will go to school, and you will not come home until you are done with every single one of your classes.”

And so she did, her heart filled with trepidation. Yuri went about her day, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, but it did not work: every student she passed by seemed to know what happened on the day Yuri Yumeka confessed her love to the most popular boy in school. They pointed, whispered, and did not bother hiding their glee at such a delicious piece of gossip, nor their disgust towards her.

Yuri attempted to block it all out, trying to replicate the way she lives in another world in her books. At the end of the day, as the bell rang and brought the class to a close, Yuri breathed the sigh of relief that she had been holding back for the entire day.

As she began to walk to the bus stop, however, Yuri realized that she had misplaced her textbook, and immediately doubled back to her classroom.

She wasn’t alone. One of her classmates--a close enough acquaintance that Yuri might have even called her a friend--was sitting in her desk, flanked by a circle of friends.

“Hey, freak,” she called out.

Yuri blinked. “Wh-What?”

“I’m talking to you.” She held up a textbook. “Is this yours?”

“Oh, yes!” Yuri felt immensely relieved. “Thank you so much for--”

“I don’t think you should have it,” she interrupted her. “It’s school property, you know, and they wouldn’t appreciate it if they got it back covered in blood.”

Her friends were sneering, and Yuri suddenly felt a hollow ache in her chest that had nothing to do with the textbook.

“I’ll keep this,” she said, tucking the book in her bookbag. “You shouldn’t be using anything of the school’s. In fact--” she turned to her with a ferocious snarl-- “why don’t you just leave? You fucking disgusting little freak!”

Her friends echoed, “Freak! Freak!”

Yuri was frozen amid the taunts and the chanting. She felt unreal--this surely wasn’t happening, it must be a twisted narrative that she delved too deeply into--but then she felt her right shoulder flare in pain and realized that her classmate had flung the book at her. It fell to the ground.

“You know,” her classmate jeered again, “we’ve always considered you a freak, talking about gross shit like gore and blood--I bet you think about fucking yourself with a knife every night, don’t you, or fantasizing about thrusting it into your crush’s ass--”

Yuri screamed and charged her. She turned into a mindless force of being, desiring nothing more than to rip this girl into pieces, so that she would never again utter those words that were like needles in her skin--she bit and scratched and punched, and though the girl began to fight back after overcoming her shock, Yuri relished in the pain, in the heat of the moment, feeling more alive than ever--

And then the teacher was there, and she was shouting something and forcing them apart with the help of the classmate’s friends--Yuri was panting heavily, bleeding from her lip and a scratch on her arm. The teacher told them both to go home, and called their parents, and it seemed to all go by in a flash…

On the ride home, she bore her mother’s bellows and insults, and though she said nothing but “sorry’s” over and over, her mother continued to apply injuries that hurt more than physical pain--

The instant the car rolled to a stop, Yuri dashed into her room and locked the door, feeling as though something great and frightening was bearing down upon her. She could vaguely hear her mother calling her in the distance, but it was background noise to the heat that seemed to envelop her entire body, blinding all of her senses.

Desperately she looked around, panting, and her eyes found the book she was reading before she left for school. She sat down and flipped it open, attempting to ease herself into the novel. It was a very good one and she was currently in the middle of a scene where one of the protagonist’s friends was being tortured with a knife… the torturer thrusts her knife into him, his screams causing her to flush as her lust flares up… she continues driving the knife into his body, over and over and over, moaning twistedly… the knife’s sheen, dripping with blood, a beautiful specimen… she brings the blade to her mouth and flicks out her tongue eagerly--

Without warning Yuri found herself panting heavily, making ugly, animalistic noises through her open mouth--it was too intense, it was overwhelming her, building up to a moan--she felt like her head was going to explode, truly explode, bloody bits flying everywhere coating her bedroom with dark red splotches--she snatched the kitchen knife that she used to cut up her breakfast and as easily sliced her own flesh on her left arm--

“Ahh--!”

The sharp bolt of pain shot up her arm and an abrupt rush of feelings rose up to her brain… it was a wonderful, wonderful feeling, washing away the terrible asphyxiation that had enclosed her for the past few days… the pleasurable relief enveloped her in its soft, loving embrace… Yuri’s mind floated all the way to heaven and stayed there, a blissful oblivion… nothing felt better than this, nothing… who knew that all it took to let herself go was a simple cut on her skin?

Yuri looked at the knife, a new red crease on its edges… she sank it into her flesh again and savored again that blissful sensation… oh, it just felt so good, why hadn’t she thought about it before? Always, when reading about the creative, beautiful ways that people kill in horror novels, she had straightened up a little more than usual, her mind absorbed in the liberating madness that the characters exhibited… and now she knew why she was so drawn to it…

She held the knife gingerly to her lips and kissed it. Her lips came away cherry red.

***

Over the next few months, Yuri continued to experiment. She discovered her most pleasurable spots (both forearms), her favorite ways to cut (a clean slice across), and her favorite times to do the deed (after a particularly stressful day, or sometimes just when she feels like it). Yuri became bored of the kitchen knife and replaced it in its rightful spot (cleaned, of course) and sought out bigger, sharper tools; she came away from the grocery shop one day with a knife that had an intricate design carved into wood with a silver blade. The next day she took a tiny pocket knife with a leather handle from a wandering artisan. Every new knife was a new toy, to be fawned over and obsessed with, and Yuri enjoyed every minute of it.

There were consequences that came with her new hobby. Sometimes, at night--one of her most peaceable moments--she would feel a renewed pain from a cut she made several days before, or even worse, a terrible itching. The itching was definitely a huge thorn in Yuri’s side, and sometimes it was almost enough to make her reconsider--but in the end she knew she would give in.

It was, also, yet another thing about herself that she was forced to hide. If even her proclivity for surrealism and her unusual mannerisms put people off, she couldn’t even imagine how they would react to this. Even just the thought of it made Yuri want to slash herself into a million pieces. Why couldn’t it just be okay? she thought desperately to herself. Why couldn’t it be okay to cut herself, if she wasn’t hurting anyone, then it should be fine, shouldn’t it?

And of course, now she won’t be able to wear anything with sleeves above the wrist, but even before she started she rarely ever wore T-shirts or like clothing. Something about her arms being exposed bare gave her a prickly, unpleasant feeling like ants were crawling under her skin. She was an indoor person regardless, so things like summertime weather never truly bothered her--or at least not enough to make her stop.

She wondered if anything could make her stop.

***

Yuri began to repress herself. To hold herself back took a tremendous effort, that even when succeeded left her drained and exhausted. What could she do? She wanted to be free of the chains of social norms, but what would that accomplish for her? Only a forced transfer of schools and ostracization by the entire student body… just because she felt the way she felt. The resentment boiled inside Yuri, but she never let it leak out of her. She was determined to make the most of her new surroundings where she was known by no one, even if she bled secretly at home, when the curtains were drawn.

But Yuri’s self-control, which had been fragile in the very beginning and was falling apart more and more, broke completely one day.

She had made one friend. He was as ordinary-looking as her first crush, but he could not have been more different in personality; he always listened to her patiently, indulged her when she let slip of her interests, and treated her with a warmth that Yuri had never before received. He was her crutch, her lifeline--it was of him that she thought when she pulled back her sleeve every night, heart pounding and brow sweating. Yuri could feel herself fall in that same trap, even as she tried to convince herself differently: after all, she knew this boy. It wasn’t an infatuation that grew into a full-blown obsession due to fantasy; he really was her friend, and his kindness and chivalry true.

Yuri delayed speaking out her true feelings, instead opting to write a diary of them with her knife every night, her flesh being her pages. But even the slicing couldn’t seem to contain her desire. One day, as they sat together in the library, she released herself completely.

“I… I love being with you like this.” It was said without preamble, an unwelcome disruption in a peaceful bubble of quiet.

He seemed surprised at first, then pleased. “I’m glad that you feel that way, Yuri. You know I enjoy our time together as well as you do.”

“Yes, I…”

The devil was rearing its ugly head again--Yuri could feel it, and all the feelings it brought with, rising up inside her. She should have stopped talking, excused herself, and gone to the bathroom. But her mouth moved as of its own accord.

“I--love you. I love you…”

She turned and abruptly grabbed his arm, as fiercely as she had before--

“I can’t live without you! You’re the only reason I’m alive--everything, everyone, is just terrible, horrible… but you’re the only ray of hope in my life. I just want to be with you forever like this... as long as I have you, I can keep living, even if I have to cut myself open every night!”

As suddenly as her passion flared up inside her, it left her, leaving her cold and scared and breathless--

Yuri turned and ran. She ran out of the library, out of the front doors, out of the school, and kept running, running, straight for home, even though it was more than an hour’s walk away--because if she kept running, if she kept pumping her arms and legs, then she wouldn’t have to think or feel--and yet the breathless feeling was coming back and Yuri desperately ran, seeking her only refuge, the only thing that would stop her rampage...

She stumbled across the doorstep and collapsed. She whipped out her knife and pulled back her sleeve and sliced. Blood streaked across her face. It was clumsy and more careless than usual but the relief was immense--and Yuri’s breath was staggered as she fell back against her pillow, knife clutched in her scarlet hand.

The saturated filter that had embodied her vision for the entire day was slowly fading away. Yuri gazed up at the gray ceiling, and allowed herself a gentle, lazy smile.

Her mother’s screams woke her up. Yuri stared bearily. She was soon put into a stretcher and carted off in an ambulance. Yuri didn’t resist. Her heart was still in that soft place of peace, floating, floating, floating. Until she felt something pick at her hand. It was like being woken up from the most wonderful dream in the world and thrust brutally, painfully back into reality. Yuri screamed and ground her knife into the horrible thing that took her away from warmth. A scream answered her and she raised her knife again--but hands flew down and flung her into the stretcher, wrenching open her tight, sticky fingers. Yuri screamed until her throat bled as they took it away, out of her sight. It was just one of many. And it wasn’t even her favorite. But every single one of them was precious to her. Her children. It would’ve hurt less if they had stabbed her with it and twisted the blade. The hands used white cloth to bind her in place. Yuri heaved, crazed with fury, and bit down as one of the hands swooped towards her. She drew another scream. It wasn’t nearly enough. But she didn’t get another chance. Something pricked her skin and Yuri’s breath escaped her. Was it her baby, back inside her arm where it should be? But she couldn’t tell. In fact, she could hardly even see anymore…

  
She woke up hours later in a remarkably comfortable bed, curled up in soft white blankets tucked under her chin. Dazed and unfocused, Yuri looked through half-closed eyes at her surroundings. It didn’t look like her bedroom. She sat up and tried to stretch, then frowned as she heard a small crinkly noise coming from her right arm. Pulling back her sleeve, she saw that a small bandage had been applied to her arm, where she--

Then it all hit her like a storm, and Yuri inhaled, suddenly and sharply, trying to quell the sudden, overwhelming surging of emotions inside her. She clenched her sheets so tightly it hurt, her breath coming in uneven bursts. There was no way--this definitely isn’t happening to her--it’s just a nightmare--

As a scream threatened to force its way out of her throat, she bent down and bit her arm as hard as she could. The jolt of pain was like a bucket of ice-cold water poured over her, soothing in its biting agony, and Yuri’s breathing became easier, though her feeling of panic was not entirely curbed.

Glancing around, she took in the neat, sterilized brown walls and the white bed across the room. A hospital, Yuri realized. I’m in a mental hospital. For a moment she simply gaped, horror and pain battling inside her, unable to focus on anything. If she started to, would it all crash down on her and destroy any semblance of self-control she had left? Her throat clenched painfully, her vision blurring.

What did I do to deserve this? Yuri asked the world despairingly. I just want… What did she want? I just want to be able to be myself! I just wanted to be like any other person who likes something! Why wasn’t it okay to like knives, to like horror and gore, to like the darker things that exist? Why wasn’t it okay to cut herself even though she enjoyed it? She never wanted to hurt anyone else, but they seemed determined to hurt her for being different, for being wrong--and it wasn’t fair.

Yuri fell back against the backside of her bed, crying.

  
She rose again from unconsciousness as though she’d never left. Her throat was sore. She glanced to the side and saw that a tray of milk and sunny-side-up eggs with toast had been laid on the cabinet next to her bed. She drank the milk, which was still warm and felt wonderfully soft on her hoarse throat, then hungrily ate the rest of the breakfast.

Feeling significantly more refreshed, Yuri climbed out of her bed. She realized she was donned in a plain gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, which suited Yuri just fine.

On the way out of her room she bumped into a nurse. “Good morning,” the nurse said. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“Y-yes.” Yuri’s voice sounded rather tinny and scratchy to her--her throat was worn out during her struggle against the doctors. “I was, ah, wondering…”

“Wondering what happened? Well, when you were found on your bed covered in blood, your parents called the ambulance thinking you were attacked, before we realized what was really going on. We brought you here because we believe you require necessary stabilization before you return home,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’ve informed your parents that they have no cause to worry.”

Yuri exhaled; here, at last, was undeniable proof that she was where she thought she was. A real mental institute. She was being locked away so that she won’t have to be an embarrassment to the rest of society. She was no better than the barking, insane criminals in the asylum. And her parents--what would they think of her now? She imagined telling her former middle school friends that she was hospitalized and had to lean against the wall to support herself--now was not the time to go there.

“So,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady,” “what--what can I do here?”

“For now you just have to wait for group therapy, which is at ten. In the meantime you can wander around, go into the living room if you want and meet the other patients.”

Yuri definitely did not find that an appealing prospect and was regretting her admittance to the hospital more and more. “When am I allowed to leave?”

“We’ll see, in a few days,” the nurse replied.

Thus Yuri had no choice but to explore the rather cramped hospital; the nurses did not allow patients to stay holed up in their rooms all day, and anyway there wasn’t much to do there. She tried to avoid people whenever she could--if she saw someone she would immediately attempt to scurry back to her own room, or else pretend not to hear their calls of greeting.

There wasn’t much to the hospital. It was partitioned into two sides--one for the women and one for the men--and a section in the middle for the main room, dining hall, and nurses’ station. There was also a locked room that Yuri assumed was meant for the group therapy session that was coming up and that she had been secretly dreading. Would she be forced to show her arms? Or talk about how she liked twisted things like knives? She hoped not, considering a single therapist wouldn’t have enough time to spare personally for every patient.

Ten o’clock seemed to come sooner than it should have. As Yuri took a spot for herself and sat down, she looked around at her housemates. All of them looked like normal people, the kind of people she would walk by on the streets without taking a moment’s notice. Did they really have a devil inside of them like she did? If so, they didn’t seem to have hidden it well, considering that they were currently sitting in a therapy room in a mental institution. Their therapist came in--a middle-aged woman who embodied the appearance of the hospital in her attire--and the session began.

All in all, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Yuri feared. She’d never had a therapist before and had rather foolishly considered them unnecessary and beneath herself, especially when she convinced herself on some days that there was nothing wrong with cutting her skin open with a special knife collection. The therapist had offered little bits of general advice, such as breathing exercises after a breakdown. Yuri, who had trouble with breathing, wondered if they would only make her moments of heat even worse. She wondered if she was beyond help.

Days passed as if in a dream. Yuri regarded her existence in the hospital through a limbo-like film--it was as though she was suspended in time, in a universe miles away from the real one. It wasn’t pleasant nor unpleasant--it was rather like her emotions have gone numb, her thoughts seamless. Every day, she got up, ate breakfast, and sat on a couch to read before therapy. The monotony was pacifying, ameliorating, and Yuri felt like she could have done this routine for eternity. She was in suspended animation, frozen in cryostasis, held away from a terrible reality that she was in no hurry to return to.

  
But return she must. One day, a week after she was admitted, her nurse walked into her room while Yuri was resting. “Your parents will be coming to pick you up today,” she announced.

Yuri blinked, feeling as though she’d been slapped awake. “E-Excuse me?”

“You’re free to go,” the nurse said with a smile.

Free to… go? The words echoed strangely in Yuri’s head, and she could not understand them, as though they were in a foreign language.

“When?” she asked.

“At noon. And we’ll give you back your belongings before you leave.”

She left. Yuri stared at her hands, wondering how she would feel when she stepped outside of the hospital, if the devil that had lain dormant until now would begin feeding at the first opportunity.

  
***

“They have referred a therapist for you,” were the only words that her mother spoke during the drive back.

Yuri said nothing.

The look of mingled disgust and horror and pity that her parents gave her was corrosive poison inside her veins. She’d never wanted them to see, to know that they gave birth to nothing less than demon spawn. She almost hated them for bringing her to this world in the first place, forcing her to suffer the life she had now.

She sighed and leaned back against her seat, wishing she was still in the hospital.

***

Her therapist had already mailed to her a list of alternatives to self-harm, along with a list of logs like a job application. Yuri threw the logs aside and glanced over the list.

Stabbing an orange with a knife.

She had plenty to choose from. Yuri took an orange back into her room, and dug the point into its juicy flesh. It sank easily, and Yuri began scrapping around inside it with relish--and to her horror she heard herself breathing--a telltale sign that she was getting worked up. It had been so long since she used a knife, and sinking it in something that wasn’t her flesh was unacceptable… her knives would be unhappy…

With effort Yuri diverted her thoughts from that dangerous path, though her body still felt hot…

Reading a book…

The list said it, so it was alright to do, wasn’t it? Yuri was aware that every step she took was bringing her closer to the very thing that everyone wanted her to avoid… but how could she resist it? She hadn’t been able to resist that sweet sensation for years...

Images were springing into her mind: enticing, irresistible, arousing...

Closing her eyes, her head full of fog, Yuri moved her fingers down beneath her stomach.

“Haah…”

Her feelings were threatening to burst out of her, the painful heat making her body swell. In the instant that she came, Yuri felt as though all the hot air in her body was released in one, single, exhilarating breath.

Then she fell limp. Lying there, panting, with her legs grotesquely apart and her fingers unclean, Yuri was utterly repulsed by herself, by her filthiness, her desire, her very being. She wished more than anything else at the moment that she was in any other body but hers--any body that wasn’t tainted by the constant stream of gruesome thoughts, by the ugly red scars. Wanting to be repelled from her own body into a spirit that flowed free and light, leaving the container behind cold, dead, and unmoving.

And yet it worked, hadn’t it? Yuri opened her eyes, and with them the realization that she’d finally relieved herself without whipping out one of her collection, without adding another blemish to her skin. And the incredible feeling--it was the same: A single, blinding moment of euphoric release, of all-enveloping sensations and emotions that crowded her mind and took her breath away--then an ebbing away to a soft, warm glow of contentment and calm.

Yuri laid splayed on her bed, soft laughter bubbling in her throat.

It was amazing.

***

On the first day of the term at her new school, Yuri leaned against her seat in the bus, reading her book, blocking out all external presence.

“Hey, mind if I sit next to you?”

She flinched and looked up. A boy was giving her a friendly smile. “It’s okay if I sit here, right?” he repeated.

Right next to her? He’d probably be able to see her scars if her sleeve flapped when the bus runs over a rough patch… even if by chance he didn’t, he’d probably ask what she was reading, his shoulder brushing hers--

“No!” Yuri held up her book against him like a shield. “P-Please! Go away!”

The boy looked bewildered, but after a moment shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.” He walked away.

Yuri clenched the sides of her book so tightly it hurt. It was better he got this impression of her than discovering later that his new friend turned out to be a nightmare fetishist. But it didn’t make the spike of loneliness in her heart any less painful.

***

Yuri sat alone during lunchtime. While everyone was mingling in the hallways, talking to their own cliques, Yuri read a book by herself in a secluded spot. When forced to partner with someone in an assignment, she maintained a quiet, unassuming presence. She spent her free periods in the library, immersing herself deeper and deeper into the only comfort she truly had that didn’t harm her. And by the rare chance that another student like the boy approached her, she would immediately shut them down.

She held herself together through this lonesome, unhappy existence, but only just. She wasn’t cutting as much as before--though still a significant amount--due to her making a point of doing anything else that would work before hurting herself. Being at school, however, meant that when she became overwhelmed, she had limited options. Yuri was terrified that someone might discover the splash of blood on a bathroom stall that she wasn’t able to wipe off entirely. Every day became just a little bit harder, and every night Yuri lost a little more control, until she felt like she was heading, at full tilt, in a frightening direction.

***

And then it happened.

Yuri was sitting by herself in her homeroom, reading her copy of Parasite Eve. Absolutely engrossed as usual, she at first did not notice the presence of another person in the room, nor did she expect it, as most students have already gone home for the day. It was one of the few times of the day where she could read without fear of judgment, so she seized upon every opportunity to dig into the next horror novel.

It took a while before Yuri became aware that there was an intruder upon her focus, and she looked up.

“Aieee!” she jumped.

“Ahhh!” the intruder echoed her reaction, leaning back in startlement.

“I--oh god, I’m sorry, how long were you waiting there?” Yuri stammered. How rude she must’ve appeared! “I really didn’t mean to ignore you I just--I was really into… my book…”

“Oh, no, no,” came the flustered response. “It’s my fault. I suppose it must’ve been rather creepy for me to stand over you like that, wouldn’t it?” She gave a sort of girlish giggle. “What sort of class president would I be by behaving like this?”

Class… president? Yuri blinked and took a longer look at the girl in front of her. Then it dawned on her--she was a student in her year, one of the more popular girls, involved in all sorts of school events and clubs. The smartest, most athletic, most desirable girl in the entire school--and naturally, the leader of the student body. Monika, she remembered. She wasn’t sure if anyone knew what her last name was.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Yuri said, wondering why someone like Monika was talking to someone like her. Her first instinct was to mutter and excuse and hope that Monika, like every other student who approached her, would go away. But the same instinct kept her rooted to the spot.

“Yes, well, anyway,” Monika said (quite dismissive, wasn’t she? Yuri thought), “I just came by to do some president duties--you know, examining the classrooms and whatnot, and I was surprised to see that someone was still here. You seem like quite the bookworm, don’t you, Miss…?”

“Yumeka,” Yuri said. “Yuri Yumekai.”

“Nice to meet you, Yuri,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Monika.”

“Um…” Yuri hesitated, her hand pausing mid-flight, “I didn’t think you would get so informal right away…”

Monika let out another giggle. “Ahaha, I’m sorry, it’s just one of those weird habits that you’d find yourself hard-pressed to kick, know what I mean?”

Momentarily panicked, Yuri said, “Not--not really.” Without really realizing, she had tugged down her right sleeve.

Monika didn’t appear to notice. “Well, you’re okay with it, right? It’s just that I went to America for my middle school years and picked up the habit and now I can’t seem to let it drop. I guess that explains the weird looks I get when I introduce myself!” She gave a friendly, sheepish smile.

“If you’re okay with it, I guess I don’t really mind either,” Yuri said, her voice quiet. She felt something unpleasant stir within her stomach and realized it was jealousy. Everything about Monika felt like another part of Yuri that should’ve been there but wasn’t. Monika’s smile had the perfect amount of geniality and self-deprecation in it, and she conversed so easily and readily in spite of Yuri’s taciturn responses. She wondered bitterly what it would be like to have everyone not only accept you but also kiss up to you.

Trying to shake off those unpleasant thoughts, Yuri forced on a smile and said, “So--Monika… How may I help you?”

“Well, the thing is,” Monika began, “I’ve been wanting to start a Literature Club.”

Yuri, to her surprise, felt an odd jolt of excitement. A Literature Club… certainly, in a Literature Club it wouldn’t be out of place to enjoy horror novels… she could read her favorites without wondering whether she’d freak anyone out…

“And I’ve been looking for potential members, with a diverse set of interests,” Monika continued. “So when I saw you reading that book, I thought perhaps I’ve just found a prospect.” She took the book and flipped through it. “It doesn’t seem like anything I’ve ever read before, and I’m always looking for new literature to consume. Broaden my horizons a bit, you know?”

“You can borrow it, if you’d like,” Yuri said, rather reluctantly, because the book was one of her favorites, and because strangers who borrow things from her typically never return them. Though if it’d make Monika happy…

“Oh, no, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a copy in the library. What I really meant is…” Monika placed the book back on Yuri’s desk and straightened. “I want my members to not just be there because they were forced to be, or believe themselves elevated because of their membership, but because they really, truly, have a passionate love for literature.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to be leader of the Debate Club,” Monika said, “not because I had a particular passion for debating--as a matter of fact, I often find myself coming away from a meeting more stressed than I was before. People always believed that their opinion as superior, talking over each other, having fights… it drove me up the wall. The only reason I was in the club was due to expectations of me--naturally, a star student ought to be in a debate club, my parents always insisted. So, instead of pursuing the things I’m personally interested in, I had to conform to what others expected of me, suppressing the expression of my identity as a result.”

Yuri, who knew exactly what that was like, felt considerably more warmed towards Monika.

“I’ve always went along with it,” she continued, a crease in her brow, “because I knew that’s what made everyone else happy, even if I’m not happy being contained like that. But eventually, one day I decided that I’m not going to be constrained by others, and so I quit.

“I knew what I really loved: literature. I knew I wanted to start a club where every member is unique and has a say, and could talk about literature together no matter their taste. I want everyone to be able to express their varied interests without being afraid of being judged, to be able to share parts of themselves among one another, and together, expand our vision of the world. That’s what I believe, anyway,” she said with a chuckle.

“I agree with you,” Yuri found herself saying. “Everyone has unusual tastes, so wouldn’t it be better if we all just shared them so we don’t have to be alone?”

“Exactly!” Monika said, smiling. “That’s exactly the kind of goal I envision for my club, and--” she leaned forward-- “I believe you can make that happen, Yuri.”

Yuri’s mind was whirling, trying its best to deny what she really felt. If she really was honest with herself, she wanted to join this Literature Club more than anything. A safe space, where she could freely display her oddities and not be questioned? She wanted that. She wanted something like that her whole life. But it couldn’t be that easy, could it? There had to be a catch. Maybe Monika was trying to trick her into making a fool of herself and then laugh at her with her popular friends.

Then she looked up into Monika’s kind face. Her eyes were resolute, her smile set in a determined curve. Yuri could tell that Monika truly believed, with all her heart, in her grand vision of her new club, and she could feel herself being drawn into Monika’s hope. She trusted it. And she wanted to make it happen.

“Okay,” Yuri said.

***

Club meetings occurred every day after school, but Monika told her that she could pace herself since the club was still new and everyone was still getting used to each other. “The club technically isn’t even a club yet,” Monika admitted, saying that so far only four of the five required members have joined. Yuri wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing; on one hand, less people were around; on the other, she was more likely to have unwanted attention drawn to herself. Not to mention that Yuri found herself at a loss when meeting new people, the stress of her anxiety over her appearance making it hard to breathe.

As such Yuri dithered for two days, the second where she stood right outside the clubroom for five minutes before panic settled in and she ran off. Eventually, however, she found that her feet were taking her to the clubroom once again, and once again she stared at the door, hand trembling over the doorknob.

The door abruptly opened inwards and Yuri hopped back with a shriek.

“Who’s--? Oh,” Monika said, her face lighting up when she recognized Yuri. “I thought you’d changed your mind! But thankfully I can see that I was wrong.” She smiled at her and waved her in.

Yuri hesitated, anxiety-ridden, knowing that one foot over the threshold would mean the point of no return.

“Come on!” Monika called. “Don’t be shy, we’re all going to become great friends!”

Yuri shook her head and made a decision not to deliberate any longer. She took a deep breath, and stepped smartly into the classroom.

It looked like any other classroom, with chairs neatly placed in rows. There was a podium in front, where Monika was standing, and a closet in the back filled with stacks and stacks of books. Peppering the walls were posters of all kinds--some relating to school events, others about novels and manga.

Sitting in the front row desks were two other girls. The one with the peach-colored hair and red bow she recognized from one of her classes; the shorter one with vibrant pink hair was a stranger to her, likely because she looked young and small enough to be a lower-classman.

“Oh, is this the new member you were talking about?” asked the short one. Her voice befitted her appearance; it was high-pitched and rather pouty.

“That’s right,” Monika said. “This is Yuri, and she’s expressed interest in joining the Literature Club. So--” she turned and smiled at her-- “welcome to the club! Make yourself at home.”

“Th-thanks,” Yuri mumbled. Painfully aware that all eyes were on her, Yuri chose a seat in the second row and sat down.

The girls in front of her turned. The one with the peach-colored hair gave a sunny grin. “Hi!” she said. “Like Monika said… welcome to the club~!” Her voice was chipper and cheerful, and Yuri, despite herself, smiled back.

“I’m Sayori, and I’m the vice-president of the Literature Club! Well,” she continued a bit sheepishly, “that doesn’t count for much since there’s only like four of us, and I don’t really do anything, but I was the first one to join so Monika bestowed upon me this graaand title!” She finished with a dramatic flourish.

“I think that’s still quite impressive,” Yuri said shyly.

“Hmph!” The smaller girl looked away and crossed her arms. “If that’s all it took to be vice-president then I should’ve joined earlier when I had the chance…”

“It’s not my fault that you turned down Monika when she first approached you, Natsuki!”

“W-well, you can’t tell with new clubs!” Natsuki said indignantly. “And besides, I wasn’t sure if ‘literature’ included the type of stuff I like. Most people would look down on the kind of books I read, so I wasn’t sure if I should join.”

“I know how you feel,” Yuri interjected, without thinking. “That’s why I didn’t come to the previous two meetings… I was a little nervous.”

“Oh, yeah?” Natsuki raised an eyebrow. “What kind of--?”

Yuri was saved from answering by a call to attention from Monika. “Okay, everyone!” The three girls abruptly stopped talking and turned to face the front, as though in class, despite the fact that Monika was about as old as they were. If Monika noticed the odd reverence her fellow members were showing her she didn’t mention it, but Yuri noticed that she had a rather pleased smile on her face.

“It’s good that we’re all getting to know each other, because as we all know the club is still young,” Monika said. “And I’m happy that so far we seem to be on the track to making my dream for the Literature Club come true.”

“And we’ll keep staying on it!” Sayori cheered, pumping a fist in the air.

Monika smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sayori. It’s only because of you and everyone else that this club became a possibility.” As she said this, her eyes met Yuri’s. Yuri ducked her head in embarrassment.

“Now then, I want to end our meeting with a literary discussion, since I doubt anyone’s done any writing yet. Why don’t we all talk about the kind of literature each of us are uniquely interested in?”

Nobody spoke for a while. Then Sayori piped up. “I kind of like all sorts of books, but especially ones where it’s not all happy or all sad. Something that gives you both kinds of special feelings.”

Yuri supposed that made sense, though she wasn’t sure of the point to having equal parts hopefulness and listlessness in a book--after all, what’s the point of all the struggle if it’ll just get solved by the end? Or, conversely, why the pockets of hope when they’re simply pointless decoys?

“Hmm,” Natsuki said, looking contemplative. “I can see what you mean, but a book doesn’t have to be all dark and sad to be good, y’know. Like, what’s the point? Who wants to read super depressing things?”

“There are many people who would want to read things like that,” Yuri said quietly.

Natsuki turned to stare at her. “There are people who like horrible stuff like gore and torture and other messed up stuff?”

Her look of mingled confusion and incredulousness compelled Yuri to clarify. “Many people find both solace and insight into such topics, because they delve into the darker aspects of humanity that we try to conceal within ourselves. When something horrific happens, don’t we feel compelled to wonder ‘why?’ And when we go deeper into the psychological element of horror, we discover fascinating revelations about how we operate and why we fear such things the way we do…” The momentum of her words propelled her to her feet. “It could even completely change your view of the world, make you see things beyond the limited scope you have been looking through your entire life, which could be gratifying for many people. Darker subjects are very affecting and tend to immerse you in a world beyond our reality, so-- ah…”

The silence in the classroom was so paramount that she could hear a breath being drawn.

Sayori broke it. “Wow.”

Yuri felt heat rise in her cheeks and covered her face with her hands, wishing she could disappear. This is it, she got all worked up again and everyone in this club was going to hate her… Monika was probably already pointing her to the door--

“You’re so cool!”

Yuri looked up. It was Sayori again, her eyes shining with awe.

“Wow,” she breathed again. “You’re like, so knowledgeable and passionate and smart... I’ve never considered horror in that way before!”

It wasn’t only Sayori--Natsuki was looking at her with a stunned expression, her mouth hanging open, and even Monika looked impressed.

“Me neither,” Monika said. “I give every genre a chance, but I never imagined that horror could be viewed in a way that wasn’t just ‘giving a cheap scare’... you really know your stuff, Yuri.”

Natsuki gaped at her a bit longer, then, glancing at her friends, muttered, “I guess what you said made sense, and it’s kinda intriguing…”

Yuri folded her fingers together anxiously. There was a warm sort of feeling that was welling up inside her, unlike the heat of passion she so often experienced, but she couldn’t identify it and it scared her. “I--I didn’t mean to ramble on like that,” she mumbled.

“No, Yuri,” Monika said clearly. “That’s exactly the kind of discussion I want in the Literature Club… I want everyone to be able to talk about what they love as much as they want. And I think we’ve all learned something from your ‘rambling’ today, so there’s no need to be ashamed.”

“I… yeah…”

“You should recommend me something, Yuri,” Sayori said, “and I’ll tell you what I think! How about it?”

“Um…” Yuri tried to think of a horror novel that’s good for beginners. “How about… Ring?”

“Okay! That seems easy enough to remember… I’m pretty forgetful but I should remember this one… alright, I’ll definitely drop by the library after the meeting.” Sayori jumped in her seat. “I’m so excited!”

“Well, I’m not reading that!” came Natsuki’s sour voice. “I’m… scare...” She looked away rather shamefacedly and her voice trailed off.

“That’s alright, Natsuki, I’m not setting this as homework or anything,” Monika said. “But I do encourage everyone to try different things, because that’s how we grow--like Yuri said, we should try to see things beyond our vision of the world.”

“Right, whatever,” Natsuki mumbled.

Yuri looked at them all and felt the warm feeling intensify until her face broke into a smile. She could get used to this.

One important thing about being in a Literature Club is, obviously, writing literature. Monika had asked everyone in the club during their second meeting about their writing experience, but neither of the others made a consistent habit of writing.

“I think it’s important,” Monika said, “to not just immerse in the experience of another person, but also of yourself. That way you can put your feelings down on paper, and express them in a way you can’t do in any other form.”

Yuri hadn’t ever really thought of writing before, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to produce anything good. Reading was more convenient--it allowed her to escape her hated reality and enter the one she really wanted to be in.

But Yuri was willing to give it a try. Besides, she was pretty sure there was something about keeping a journal on that list of anti-self-harm tips. At the night of the second meeting she took out a paper and a pen, sat at her desk, and worked for three hours. There was a lot to say, a lot of things inside Yuri that strained to get out--and she put them on that sheet of paper.

She put her pen down and rested her aching hand, looking at her handiwork. It was a mess--words criss-crossed one another, ink ran over several words and made them illegible, and none of the things she said made any sense at all. In her frustration she threw the offending piece of paper in the trash with as much force as she could muster and unsheathed a knife before going to bed.

The next day Yuri approached Monika about her disastrous attempt.

“I just can’t seem to get the hang of it,” she said. “Words just keep coming out of me and making a mess and I don’t know how to do it, I don’t think anyone would like it...”

Monika surveyed her. Then, she said, “Who do you write for, Yuri?”

Yuri was momentarily struck dumb by the question. Then, she said hesitantly, “I guess… for myself. But--” Yuri felt shamefaced to admit this, but plowed on anyway-- “I want to write for other people too… I want them to see the real me.”

“And that’s totally fine,” Monika assured her. “But in general writers draw from their own experiences, right? And I think that the first person who should see the real you…” She points at Yuri. “...is yourself.”

Yuri nodded.

“Writers often have works that are for no other eyes than their own. They don’t only use writing as a marketing tool, but more as something they invest a bit of themselves into. For instance, if you wanted to write about a bad day, why not vent in the form of a poem? It doesn’t have to be good, as long as it helps you feel better, right?”

Yuri took Monika’s words into heart as she wrote again that night. She wrote down the usual mess of words, then tried to arrange them in what she hoped was worthy of the poetic form. Soon time ticked by and when Yuri finally put down her pen, the sun was peeking over the horizon. She had been so absorbed in her writing process--as absorbed, in fact, as she was in a good book--that she hadn’t noticed that time passed by. Yuri fell asleep that night feeling light and exhausted.

As Yuri continued to write, she found that the usual emotional overstimulation occurred less and less. Whenever she felt overwhelmed with emotion, she took out her pen instead of her knife, and relieved herself through the hard pressure of the point meeting the paper and the words and cries that threatened to burst out of her.

It wasn’t always foolproof, of course--sometimes she found herself stopping mid-sentence and pulling back her sleeve subconsciously, especially when she wrote about the darker things in her head--but in general it was a big help. Even though she knew she wouldn’t ever be able to share those things with the other members. It still gave her a pang, holding herself back, presenting a calm and elegant front when inside reigned horrific thoughts and ceaseless breaths and clean sharp blades--but Yuri knew by now that she had to accept what she got, and never try to go further.

To her surprise, Yuri wasn’t the only one reluctant to share her poetry. In one meeting--which ended up being mostly quiet as everyone was concentrating on writing--Monika had inquired of the room at large if anyone would be willing to share a sample of their work to the entire club.

Natsuki turned red-faced and immediately held her paper to her chest so that nobody could peek at the words. “Wh-why?”

“Why not, Natsuki?” Sayori chirped as she stood up and placed her hands on the smaller girl’s shoulders. “Are you afraid that your poem will be too cute for us to handle?”

She had said it in a teasing way, but Natsuki looked down at her knees. In a voice so quiet that Yuri almost didn’t hear her, she said, “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of…”

Monika said, “What was that?”

Natsuki turned her head to the side and wouldn’t look at them. “I don’t think you guys would like my writing.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because it’s all cutesy and happy and… I bet you guys wouldn’t take it seriously because it would just be ‘adorable’ or something, as though that’s all there is to me, just like what my friends think!” Suddenly she stood up, walked over the corner of the room, and threw her writing in the trash.

“Natsuki!” Sayori said, shocked.

“I don’t like it either,” Natsuki said, siddling back to her seat looking rather satisfied. “So I’m not gonna show it to anyone!”

Monika and Sayori were still staring at her with their mouths open. Yuri looked at Natsuki’s expression of mixed smugness and shame and felt a sudden rush of companionship with her. Was she, in a way, as afraid that her writing would be taken as “edgy” as Natsuki’s would be taken as “cutesy”?

“I suppose,” Monika said to break the silence, “that it’d be hard for the four of us who are relative strangers to share our deepest personal thoughts with one another…”

Her voice was strained and Yuri felt a stab of guilt; she knew that Monika wanted everyone to put all their efforts into the club, to participate and confide in one another. But her anxiety and lack of confidence about her own writing was so that it would probably be at least another dozen club meetings, maybe even more, before she would let anyone catch a glimpse of her paper.

After the meeting, Yuri approached Natsuki and said nervously, “Hey, um… I just wanted to say that I understand how you feel.”

She wasn’t sure what made her do it. Perhaps she felt compelled to reach out to another person who may be lonely on the inside, afraid to speak out in case of rejection.

Natsuki blinked, looking surprised, then crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that… that it’s more than just confidence… showing your writing means that you have to open up to your readers, expose yourself and your vulnerabilities… and that’s a scary thing that not everyone is ready for.” Yuri hesitated. “There are a lot of strange and unusual things about me that--that make me unappealing and unlikable to others. So I understand that you wouldn’t want everyone to see that just yet.”

It was the first time that she admitted something like that to another person, and she wondered how Natsuki would react.

Natsuki uncrossed her arms and stared at Yuri the same way she had when Yuri went on her digression about horror. “Why do you have to be so smart all the time?” she said at last, blushing with her lip pursed in a pout.

Yuri couldn’t help smiling despite her embarrassment. “I-I’m not smart, I just relate to how you’re feeling…”

“That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be smarter than me about it,” she grumbled. “It’s totally unfair how you’re so composed and mature but I’m not.”

_That’s me, all right._ “I’m sorry,” Yuri said humbly.

Natsuki gave her a furtive look then turned away again. “Hmph. I guess I’ll forgive you this one time,” she said.

Despite her sour words, Yuri thought she saw Natsuki give a tentative smile back. Her heart lifting, she helped Natsuki pack her bookbag and walked with her on the way home.

***

That night, as Yuri was cleaning up her room, she thought of Natsuki and the poem she threw in the trash bin. Yuri quickly rummaged through her own for the very first poem she ever wrote. Though crumbled and crushed by the weight of other pieces of garbage, it was still as readable as it was when she first wrote it. Yuri placed it on her desk, flattened it out, picked up her pen, and began to write.

**Author's Note:**

> a work i wrote from the heart for my girlfriend cy as a crisisversary gift (christmas + anniversary)
> 
> thank you for a year of wonderful memories... and here's to a lifetime of them! <3


End file.
